How We Live
by Beloved-the-Fool
Summary: This is how I imagine some of the thought processes behind what motivates Cal and Gillian. I used pieces from episodes in all three season as my springboard, so to speak. I've only ever fic'd for one other fandom, and that was a book series. So this is new ground for me. This was not beta'd, so all mistakes are my own. Disclaimer: I only wish I owned Lie To Me. Stupid FOX!
1. Chapter I

He strides purposefully down the hall and into her office that morning feeling belligerent and primed for a fight, even while trying to project an air of indifference. His mental state is being called into question, and that really pisses him off. Not because he isn't slightly unstable; he is. But in his opinion, we're all slightly unstable. It's simply human nature. How else can we get through life's constant back and forth tilt if we don't do so on sea legs, so to speak? No, stability isn't really the issue here, is it? Not really. The heart of the matter is that he knows - beyond doubt - that these sessions are perfunctory. Just for show. A set-up, to be blunt. They're part of a carefully-arranged plan to minimise the fallout he tends to leave in his wake. They couldn't afford the risk this time, not for the sort of fallout he would create. So they were hedging their bets just in case they need to discredit him. Well, this is more than just his career at stake. This is his personal and professional reputation. No, even more than that. This is bigger than him. The truth is at stake. Truth is vital to him above all else. So if he bulls into her office that morning prepared to go 12 rounds, who can blame him?

He's prepared to go down swinging.

He's not prepared, however, for her.

She's nothing he expected. They shake hands _(her hands are so impossibly delicate, yet her handshake is firm.)_. She's professional and courteous but somehow manages to convey warmth. He cuts to the chase and makes a few combative statements, asks a few questions to which he doesn't really expect answers. She doesn't rise to the bait but attempts to redirect, to get them back on task. He's having none of it. He prowls her office distractedly, makes a snide accusation. She meets his gaze directly, answers with sarcasm and a smile. He is instantly defused, responding with a quip. And she smiles at him then, a genuine smile that reaches her eyes. Blue eyes. For a split second he pauses, mouth slightly ajar and feeling vaguely confused and utterly unmanned.

He recovers quickly enough that he reckons she probably hadn't seen it. That little slip. That momentary flash of uncertainty. His mask is back in place now, and he sits and slouches _(his self-preservation mechanism)_. And he begins talking.

In no time at all, the sessions become less formulaic, less structured. Almost friendly. She is warm and pleasant and trusting of him, open to the point of transparency. Could anyone really be this unguarded, this honest? It's unexpected. It's alluring. He feels drawn to her, and he can't explain it. And there she is, smiling that smile again. The one that reaches her eyes. The one that she smiles just for him. And he waits for her to speak, because he can't. Cannot even remember any words at all, much less the ones he had intended to say next. They must exist, words. But he's damned if he can recall a single one.

So he waits. He cannot speak.

Then she speaks. Smiles and speaks.

And suddenly, he can.

Because she does.


	2. Chapter II

He doesn't want to trust her. Trust isn't something he just doles out willy-nilly. He firmly believes people should have to earn it. That takes time. Or it _should_, anyway. He's distantly aware that he's baffled. Baffled, because he just can't understand what's happening here. He's shocked himself, honestly and truly shocked himself. Because this isn't how he operates. This is not his m.o. He's always in control. He always keeps the upper hand. So why does he feel this sudden, overwhelming urge to tip his hand? To her. Just briefly. Just ever-so-quick. Just to see if she will. . ._see_ it.

His need for control has a short skirmish with his curiosity. It's over almost before it begins; in the end, his curiosity always wins out.

He doesn't want to trust her, this woman who was chosen - not by him, but for him. . .against him. . .to diagnose him as broken in the head, not to be taken seriously. He doesn't want to trust her. But he just. . .can't. . .seem. . .to _not_.

She's just so...real? Authentic? That can't be. People don't put their true selves "out there" like this. Not in his experience, anyway. What is she playing at? He narrows his eyes and tilts his head, studying her acutely. And she, what? She lets him? _Allows_ it? For all the world, it looks to him like she's actually _inviting_ it. And he forgets that he doesn't want to trust her. He wants to tip his hand. Maybe more than a tip. Maybe he just wants to drop the whole bloody thing right in her lap.

For all the world, she looks like she knows that.

For all the world, he wants her to know. Everything. Every. Last. Thing.

And that. That thought, right there. That terrifies him to his very core.

He wants to trust her. He is so close. So sodding close. But he holds back. He can't do it. Can't let her in, can't let her see.

She looks at him. And she. . .lets. . .him. . .in. Lets him see. She trusts him.

And suddenly, he can.

Because she does.


	3. Chapter III

Her mind is racing a mile a minute, and she's having trouble herding her thoughts back into coherency.

Did he really just ask her that? To take such an uncharacteristic risk? To leave the relative security of her 9-5 job and step off the ledge into the unknown with him at her side? He did. He's sitting there looking so cocky and confident. That's how he always looks, because he always is. He's cocky and confident and reckless and brash. . .all of the things she's not. Decidedly not. Most definitely not. That is NOT who she is.

Except that somehow, inexplicably, it's who she wants to be. But only with him. Only he makes her want to throw off her conventionality. To stop being so together, so methodical, so careful. To take the plunge, headlong and damn the consequences. Start a new business with him. She's considering it. She's _actually_ considering it. Is she seriously considering it? She blinks a few times. Yes, yes, she really is.

And that frightens her, because she isn't just considering it; she _wants_ it. Wants the risk, wants the excitement, wants to venture into the unknown.

The 'yes' is already trying to form itself on her lips and push itself out using her voice to give it shape. She's about to say it. She's so close. So terrifyingly close. She freezes, and the words won't come. She can't. She can't take this kind of risk. She just can't take that final step and cross over from doubt to belief.

She looks at him. There he sits, looking so maddeningly cocky and confident. Confident. And then he lets her see. Just for a moment. An honest and raw moment.

He lets her see, because he needs her to see it.

Needs her.

He believes that they can do this. Believes it with all his heart.

And suddenly, she can.

Because he does.


	4. Chapter IV

His gaze falls on her, heavy and direct and intimate. He often looks at her this way. It isn't new, not really; but each time it happens, she's transported back in memory. . .back to the first time he looked at her that way. That way he does. Such intensity! It's like being stripped bare and being completely powerless to do anything about it. It is entirely unnerving yet oddly exhilarating. Intoxicating. Yes, he often looks at her this way. And although it isn't anything new, it always feels as though it is. The novelty of being known so _thoroughly_ just never wears off.

And he's standing so close to her now, with no sense whatsoever of the concept of personal space. It's never existed between them, personal space. He has invaded it right from the word 'go', right from the early days of their easy and instant bond. It was never a conscious thought with him. He never stopped to think of it as invasive, never even considered that she might not want him that close. And of course, she does. It feels natural. It's just how they are. Proximity and touch are simply part of their unspoken, private language.

But this. . right now, in this moment. . .it feels a little different. The shift is slight, almost imperceptible. Maybe the average person wouldn't even have noticed. But they are not average people. And she did notice. And so did he.

And it suddenly feels warmer. A lot warmer.

There's a flutter in her stomach that becomes frenetic, and her pulse is pounding and racing impossibly fast.

And she realizes she isn't breathing.

Then she sees his lips part slightly as he draws in a deep, shuddering breath.

And suddenly, she can.

Because he does.


	5. Chapter V

From the start, it really wasn't a good idea. It just wasn't practical. But when had they ever been practical? And in all honesty, you don't get to choose how you feel or about whom you feel it. Feelings just. . .are. Undeniable. There it is. And they both know it to be true.

And neither one of them will acknowledge it. Not to each other. Not even to themselves.

Everyone around them knows. Literally, everyone. Even people who have just met them and have only seen them together for mere minutes. Really, it just couldn't be more obvious. And frankly, if you asked the people who spend the most time with them, not a single one of them can understand how two such seemingly perceptive individuals can miss something so blindingly obvious.

In reality, they haven't missed it. They both see it. They both know.

But neither one of them will acknowledge it. Not to each other. Not even to themselves.

Because that level of honesty is just _far_ too dangerous. It's much safer to give those sorts of feelings validation only in the most roundabout way. So they flirt. Sometimes, it's almost chaste; sometimes, it's completely outrageous and bordering on perverse. It's a game they tacitly consent to play, and it's safer because they understand the rules of this game. But that other game. . .that one they _could_ play. . .they don't understand the rules to that one. Don't even know what the rules might be to that sort of game. And it's scary because despite that. . .despite not understanding the rules or even knowing what the rules are, they both still desperately want to play it. But they won't. Won't even acknowledge the possibility that the other game even exists. Not to each other. Not even to themselves. So they keep on playing the same old game, doing the same old dance. It's a dance to which they know all the steps.

But there are occasions...

One of them will spin when the other is expecting a dip. Or one of them steps forward instead of sideways and throws off the timing of the dance. On those occasions, they become almost hopelessly entangled. But then one of them regains composure, finds their footing and pulls the other one right back into the familiar, safe cadence of their familiar, safe dance.

Their dance is cozy, intimate, intricate, and it requires a great deal of effort to maintain it.

If they were ever honest with themselves_ (with each other)_ they'd admit that they're getting tired. The dance is demanding, exhausting. It would be so much easier to lean in. To stop dancing around it and just. . .lean. . .in.

But that would be playing with fire. That would be _extremely_ dangerous.

She is not a risk-taker; she is, by nature, cautious to a fault. True, the only real risk she ever took was with him, but. . .

He is a risk-taker, but he doesn't take risks where she's concerned. He is simply unwilling to absorb that sort of loss.

Yet there are moments. . .moments when he is nearly honest with himself, when he's nearly honest with her. Moments when he thinks to throw caution to the wind and just. . .lean. . .in.

He's been so close. So close to doing just that, to leaning in because he loves her. So close that he doesn't think he can stop himself. He just. Can't. Stop.

She senses it, when he's too close, when he begins to lean in. And because she loves him, she feels herself begin to lean in, too. But she has to protect them, has to stop when he can't. And so, she stops.

And suddenly, he can.

Because she does.

**A/N: _Endless thanks to all who have taken a moment to r+r. You have no idea how happy it makes me to have found a bunch of people who are just as Callian obsessed as me. I love getting reviews! All are appreciated. Thank you for taking this peek inside my head and letting me know what you think of it. This fandom is made of awesome sauce!_**


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